From Revelations to Celebrations
by GoodShipSherlollipop
Summary: When Sherlock returns from his two years away from London, he is a changed man. His thoughts over that time period have grown increasingly sentimental towards a certain pathologist. Can they find love together or will things be derailed by her engagement to another man? (RoLD series, part 11) Sherlolly. Set during TEH. Two-shot.
1. A Day of Revelations

Sherlock peered through the curtains of his front window, watching for Molly's arrival. He could feel nervous anticipation running through him and he had sought refuge in wearing his dressing gown over his suit, which always seemed to help him feel more comfortable somehow.

As he waited, he reflected on is two year absence from London. It had been a dark time for him, putting himself in constant danger with various factions of Moriarty's network. The last mission, however, had been by far the most dangerous, and when he had been exposed as a spy, he had not expected to survive.

There were weeks of torture, sleep deprivation, a minimum of food and water to keep him alive. But he had steadfastly refused to expose his brother or his MI6 superiors. He had been ready to die if necessary, to ensure that Moriarty's network would extend no further, and he knew it was only a matter of time until MI6 would close in, even if they were not in time to save him. Mycroft's intervention just in time saved him and he had discovered that in the interim, his name had also been cleared.

But Sherlock Holmes was a changed man. His time away had served to give him an awareness of his own mortality, and a new appreciation for the people who had been instrumental in helping him cheat death.

Of course, it was Mycroft who had helped him survive most recently, but it was Molly who had occupied his thoughts more than he had expected while he was gone. He would replay in his mind quite often the scene in the lab where he had asked for her help and she had so willingly given it. She had even offered up her own comfortable bed for him while he was laying low in the days before his "funeral". Molly was an extraordinary woman.

In those final weeks before his return to London, just before his capture and afterwards, he had found himself wondering how things had changed during his absence. Mycroft had refused to tell him anything, wanting Sherlock to focus only on the mission. Sherlock had been left to only guess at how his circle of friends and acquaintances were moving on with their lives. A lot could happen in two years.

When he had gone to see Molly at the hospital though, after his rather unsuccessful reveal to John about his "resurrection", for the first time he had felt he was home. She still smelled the same, that curious mixture of strawberry shampoo, along with the usual lab smells. He had inhaled her scent, gently brushed his lips over her hair, grateful that here was someone who was genuinely glad to see him as she slid her arms around his waist to give him a tight hug. She had brought out in him a feeling of wanting some stability in his life. John was no longer at Baker Street and presumably about to become an engaged man, but Molly seemed unchanged.

So here he was, wondering what he should do next. Should he show his interest in her as possibly more than just a friend? Should he play things cool and try to determine her own level of interest? _Yes, _he decided finally, _I'll play it cool, invite her to act as my assistant and see where things lead after spending a whole day together._

After what seemed an eternity, but was really only half an hour since she had responded to his text invitation, saying she would be right there, Sherlock couldn't help the way his heart leapt as he finally caught sight of her heading towards 221B from the underground. He knew Mrs. Hudson would open the door for her, so decided to stay standing at the window, as if he didn't have a care in the world and was merely enjoying the view of the activity in the street.

He heard the outer door being opened and the tread of Molly's light footsteps ascending to his front door which he had left open in invitation. His eyes slid to the left as he heard her enter, then say in her musical voice, "You wanted to see me?"

He kept his hands casually in his pockets as he turned to face her, saying as he stepped towards her, "Yes. Molly, would you-" and he paused, feeling somewhat flustered for a moment at the way his heart was thumping. She was like an oasis to a dying man. He collected his thoughts, swallowed and proceeded, "would you like to solve crimes?"

Even as she said "have dinner?" at the same time, then flushed with embarrassment, Sherlock felt a tingle of anticipation. This was a good sign indeed if she was hoping for them to have dinner together. It wasn't enough though, he wanted to be certain she was receptive to his advances.

He found it very sweet, the way Molly agreed to be his assistant, but then was nervous, wondering if she should act like John.

_She wants to please me_. He was pleased himself with the thought. Another sign that pointed towards her possible continuing interest in him, despite his long absence.

He'd had his chance with her, had known she wanted more than friendship years earlier, but he had dismissed her feelings as merely a crush on him due to his superior intellect rather than anything deeper. But her behaviour shortly before he had sought her help had confused him. She no longer seemed to have a crush on him as someone with whom she was in awe, but she seemed to look at him as he truly was. There had been no time for him then to think about that with the threads of Moriarty's web tightening, but he had thought about it a lot while he'd been away. She had definitely still been interested in him at that point. Two years was a long time though to go on holding a torch for someone you might never see again. He was realistic enough to know that there was a high probability she had let him go and moved on.

But her reaction to him was sparking hope and he intended to make the most of his chance, if indeed he did still have one.

With that in mind he set out to impress her, show her that two years away had not in any way caused him to slip in his observational skills. With the Harcourts swiftly dispatched after handing the wife the card of a divorce lawyer, _I've sent a lot of business to those lawyers_, he thought, _perhaps I should be be collecting a commission,_ Sherlock decided to test Molly's feelings for him further.

He had the perfect opportunity to do so when a client arrived with her stepfather, asking for his help in locating her missing online pen pal who had abruptly stopped communicating with her.

Sherlock knew as soon as the young woman explained her situation that the stepfather was the one posing as the suddenly absent friend, but he wanted to prove to Molly he could exhibit empathy.

So Sherlock took hold of the sobbing woman's hands and injected a note of deep sympathy into his tone, which surprisingly wasn't difficult. He discovered he did actually feel compassion for her.

"And you really thought he was the one, didn't you? The love of your life?" He slid a glance towards Molly. Would she catch the hidden meaning of his words?

Molly looked across at him too and it was if a current of electricity passed between them. He stood and walked towards Molly, quietly explaining his deductions from the case, before turning back to the devious stepfather and exposing him.

After closing the door on the devastated but at least enlightened client and her horribly embarrassed stepfather, Sherlock was about to take the plunge and ask Molly to go to dinner with him, when his phone pinged.

It was Lestrade, calling him to investigate a baffling case, and it provided another opportunity to impress Molly at the site of the investigation.

Sherlock didn't really know why he was so desperate to do that, and his inner voice started to torment him, using John's voice in a taunting manner, telling him he was being a show-off and asking if he was jealous when Molly made her own clever deductions.

Even the way they both said "Six months old" together indicated a hidden connection between them, and Sherlock suddenly realised _he_ was impressed by Molly, in a way he had never been before. It was a rather strange feeling. No woman had fascinated him before with superior intellect, except Irene Adler. With Irene, her cleverness had been merely in her ability to manipulate others, not true superior intellect. Molly's ability shone through naturally and she used her intelligence for good rather than self-serving purposes. Despite Irene's outward beauty, he had not been attracted to her physically even upon seeing her naked. He was discovering that he was very much attracted to Molly's simple beauty, quiet manner and dimpled smile. She didn't put on a false façade in front of him and he appreciated that immensely.

With the case determined to be a silly hoax, there was one more thing Sherlock decided to do before asking Molly to go out for dinner. Idly he thought something casual would be best, in case he found out he had misinterpreted her feelings for him, in which case he could pass it off as merely a thank you for her help.

_I'll see if she wants some chips, that is innocuous enough,_ he thought to himself.

Once outside of the building, Sherlock checked his watch. Yes, there was definitely still time for him to do one more client consultation before dinner. He looked at Molly, who had just exited as well, followed by Lestrade who was headed back to New Scotland Yard. "I need to return a hat to a client. Apparently he has an interesting case for me. Are you up for it? We'll have to go back to my flat first to pick up the hat though."

Molly held up her notepad. "That's what I'm here for."

Sherlock smiled. "You did well in there, by the way. I think Gavin was quite impressed." _Not to mention me as well, _he thought.

Molly blushed slightly then looked confused. "Gavin? Who's Gavin?"

Sherlock gestured at the retreating figure of the detective inspector. "Gavin Lestrade, of course, who else would I mean?"

"Oh, you mean _Greg _Lestrade." She let out an endearing, musical laugh.

"Gavin, Graham, Greg, it's all the same to me." He kept his tone light to mask the slight embarrassment he felt at not remembering Lestrade's first name. Molly probably thought he was a complete moron. Perhaps he could make a joke about his ignorance. "I'm not the best with names. Why do you think I don't call Mrs. Hudson by her first name?"

She looked blank for a moment, biting her lip. Finally she said, "Because you've never heard her first name?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Oh, she mentioned it to me once but I deleted it, considering it unimportant, and I'm a bit embarrassed to ask. I have a vague notion if is Maggie or Martha or Mildred, but I could be wrong,"

Molly laid her hand on his arm affectionately. He liked it when Molly touched him. "You've always remembered _my _name."

He had to be honest with her. "That's because you are relevant to me, Molly." Could she decipher this next clue to his feelings for her?

He was pleased by her answer as warm chocolate coloured eyes met the cool depths of his own turquoise ones and held them for a moment. "You're relevant to me too, Sherlock." He could have sworn his heart skipped a beat at that. Things were definitely looking promising between them.

The couple returned to Baker Street to retrieve the hat. Sherlock had popped out that morning for a short time to take some pictures of the "rats" for his crime wall. The fellow, who had provided Mrs. Hudson with his name and address over a friendly cup of tea, had accidentally left his hat behind and Mrs. Hudson had given it it to Sherlock when he returned home. That had been an amusing topic of conversation for Sherlock and his brother too, when Mycroft had stopped by to discuss the important case involving an underground network planning an attack on London.

Upon arrival at the hat man's place, Sherlock and Molly were invited in.

"My girlfriend's a big fan of yours," said the man, what was his name? Sherlock thought for a moment and remembered. It was Shilcott. He was obviously very much into his trains, judging by the room they had entered. Had he really said girlfriend? Sherlock thought it highly unlikely the man was attached romantically. That hat had been a clear indication he was a loner.

"Girlfriend?"

He glanced at Molly with a grin as he said the words and saw the crease between her brows. Obviously that had been a Bit Not Good, and he didn't want Molly to think he was still the cold, uncaring man he used to be, so he decided the best thing to do would be to apologise. "Sorry...do go on."

The enigma of the disappearing man from a train carriage, or car, as Shilcott had stated, was an interesting and puzzling one that would require some thought. For Sherlock though, the exchange afforded the opportunity for him to look at Molly several times as either he, or she, made comments. He could almost see the invisible sparks between them each time their eyes met.

_She's definitely feeling it too, _he concluded to himself with satisfaction, as he and Molly prepared to leave.

With that in mind, he felt confident enough to ask a casual question as he began to descend the stairs. It was time for him to make his move. "Fancy some chips?"

When she didn't respond to his question immediately but asked what the day had been about, he was able to be honest about it, about her importance to him.

"-The one person he thought didn't matter at all to me was the one person that mattered the most." Sherlock thought that made things pretty clear, without actually making protestations of deep affection or love. She mattered the most to him - more than John, more than Mrs. Hudson, more than Lestrade, even more than his own brother. He hoped she didn't think he was just talking about her help in faking his death, that she understood the deeper meaning behind the words.

Sherlock smiled slightly. "You made it all possible." He looked down, prepared to take her hand and confess what was in his heart, to make things clear, in case she had not understood his intent. It was at that moment he saw the ring he had not noticed before on her finger. His brain shut down for a split second, then reset, trying to process this completely unexpected information. He drew in his breath. "But you can't do this again can you?"

He barely heard her response through the _"Fatal error - abort objective"_ message flashing in his mind even as he forced out the correct words for the situation. "Congratulations, by the way."

Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back more firmly to hide their trembling, trying to give the impression that he was unaffected, but every word by Molly was like a knife thrust into his heart, the one he had just discovered he had. How could he have been so utterly wrong? How had he misread her signals of perceived interest? The looks that had passed between them, both at Baker Street and here, they had _meant _something to him, but apparently not to her.

_Well, it serves you right,_ he told himself. _You played with her emotions in the past and now she has turned the tables on you. This is what you deserve. You could have had a chance with her years ago if you hadn't been too idiotic to realise it._

He came back to himself just as she finished with, "-no idea why I'm telling you any of this," and he steeled himself to do the right thing, to not let on in any way that she had hurt him.

"I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper," he told her, knowing his heart was aching over the fact that he would not be the man to make her happy. "You deserve it."

He couldn't help his next words though, the words to remind her that he knew she had, at one time, been interested in _him. _"After all, not all of the men you fall for can turn out to be sociopaths." He deliberately used the word sociopath, rather than psychopath, so she was in no doubt to whom he was referring.

Her response was barely audible, almost questioning. "No."

"No." He affirmed her word, taking a a step forward and looking into her lovely brown eyes, knowing it was time to close the door on this barely opened chapter of his life. Then he gave her a soft smile and bent down, placing a gentle kiss to her cheek, letting her go once and for all.

With that, he walked away, dinner invitation forgotten. Just before the outer door closed behind him, he heard her murmur something but didn't look back. There was no point.

An unfamiliar female voice within him taunted him then. "_You didn't win, you lost._"

* * *

**Author's note:** Yes, a rather ominous ending to the chapter but It's only an echo from my "real" Sherlock's past creeping into this dream. I hope you liked the little conversation after the hoax scene and my explanation as to how Sherlock obtained the hat.

I love to think of Sherlock realising his feelings for Molly while he was away from London.

Hit those follow/favourite buttons and review with your thoughts so far.


	2. A Day of Celebrations

The same haunting refrain of _"You didn't win, you lost,"_ stayed with Sherlock, keeping time with his slow footsteps as he trod the familiar road to his favourite fish Shop and received his usual extra large sized portion.

He returned home, grateful for the distraction shortly thereafter provided by John's fiancée, Mary. Calculating the best way to find and rescue Jon from a bonfire had required all of his deductive skill and enabled him to push the confusing events of that day into a corner of his mind.

One good thing did come out of that day though. Sherlock had lost Molly, not that he had technically ever really had her, he was thinking more in terms of losing her romantic interest in him, but he had restored his friendship with John.

It was indeed fortunate that his thoughts were preoccupied with who could have put John in the bonfire, as well as the expected underground network attack on London. These concerns kept Sherlock's attention until the threat was revealed and Lord Moran apprehended for his attempt to blow up the Palace of Westminster. It was ironic, really, that the whole case had gone back to what Shilcott had been referring to with the disappearing man, who had turned out to be Lord Moran.

But that night, as Sherlock lay in bed, he allowed himself to dwell on the hurt he had felt when he had seen Molly's engagement ring. He knew that he felt it so acutely, not because he was merely attracted to her and had been denied the opportunity of getting to know her better, in a more personal way, but because he, Sherlock Holmes, was in love with her.

_I'm in love with Molly Hooper,_ he acknowledged to himself, and once again, those words of _"You didn't win, you lost,"_ came into his head. He lay awake for some time, grieving over that loss. But he was Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective, and he would carry on. Nobody had to ever know that for a short time he had dared to hope for someone to love him for himself, the man, rather than the famous detective. With that resolve, he finally fell into a troubled sleep.

The following morning, John popped in for a visit and made a suggestion. "Seeing as you and I have reconciled our differences, and I am a newly engaged man, how about we have a little celebration this afternoon?"

Sherlock was seated comfortably in his chair as usual. He really wasn't in the mood to celebrate. Despite his resolve of the night before, he still felt the bitter wounds of loss and wanted to lick them, alone. "Not really in the mood for a celebration right now, John."

John gave him a look of surprise. "You are usually so excited when a case has been wrapped up, and this was a big one. Are you bored already?"

Sherlock lowered his gaze and tapped his fingers idly on the arm of his chair. "Not bored. Just tired, I guess."

John frowned. "This isn't like you, Sherlock. Come on, a little celebration will be fun and it will lift your spirits. We can invite Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and even Molly. Now that you're back, I expect you will be working alongside her at the hospital again quite often. Mrs. Hudson mentioned that she was here the day before yesterday."

Sherlock looked directly at John then. "If you're going to invite Molly, you had better invite her fiancé as well." He tried to keep the slightly bitter note out of his voice. No point in John knowing what an idiot he was to have allowed himself to fall in love with a woman after having told his friend years earlier that he was married to his work.

John's mouth dropped open. "She's engaged? When did this happen? How did you find out?"

Sherlock leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "I found out two days ago, when you weren't talking to me and I needed an assistant. That's why she was here." He continued, trying to keep his voice light, unaffected. "No idea when she got engaged, nor do I care." That at least was the truth, he didn't care _when_ it had happened, only _that_ it had happened at all.

John blew out a breath. "Quite a lot can happen in a couple of years I guess."

"Indeed." Sherlock carefully avoided John's eyes again.

"So uh, yeah, I'll just send out some texts then. Three o'clock okay?"

"Whatever." Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. He didn't relish the idea of meeting Molly's fiancé, if he came, but he supposed it would be interesting to see who had supplanted himself in her affections. Perhaps too, seeing the man himself would help him to gain some closure.

That afternoon, the little party was assembled in the sitting room, except for Molly who was apparently running late. John had said she had accepted the invitation.

Champagne had been poured and Sherlock was about to get another bottle of it when his phone rang. He excused himself and went to his bedroom. It was Mycroft, bemoaning the fact that he had been subjected to the indignity of attending a matinee of Les Misérables with their parents, begging Sherlock to give him a reprieve. That was definitely not going to happen. "Nothing I can do to help," he said, ending the call in the middle of Mycroft's moaning complaints as John appeared.

"Come on, you'll have to go down. They want the story."

"In a minute." The reporters could at least wait until he had finished pouring the champagne. He grabbed the bottle and popped the cork, then picked up a glass for himself on his way back into the sitting room, wondering what was keeping Molly. Maybe the reporters were making it difficult for her to get in? Mrs. Hudson had said the door was unlocked so she would be able to let herself and her fiancé in. What was the man's name anyway? Had she even mentioned it during their conversation at the bottom of the stairwell?

Sherlock allowed the wedding conversation to drift around him until Mary said, "You will be there, Sherlock?"

"Weddings, not really my thing." He heard the door open and moved to stare out the window. He knew it was Molly, and he dreaded the thought of seeing her fiancé for the first time.

"Hello everyone." Molly's voice was cheerful. Sherlock swallowed, knowing he was going to have to turn around and be civil to the new man. But at least he could distract himself first with those reporters he could see down in the street.

He turned and said, "Ready?" to John, then looked over to where Molly was standing just inside the door. His eyes widened slightly. Where was her fiancé?

"Champagne?" Lestrade asked of Molly and she answered in the affirmative, while Sherlock walked past her, his thoughts in a whirl, even as John followed.

Once the reporters had been satisfied and sent on their way, Sherlock and John headed back upstairs. When they reached the landing, Sherlock asked, "Didn't you invite Molly's fiancé as well?"

"I did invite him. No idea why he isn't here. Perhaps he was busy." Sherlock nodded and moved to open the door when John's words stopped him. "Come to think of it, when she responded, she just said, 'I'll be there', not 'we'll be there.'"

Hope flared briefly in Sherlock's heart at that. But he was not going to jump to any conclusions. He opened the door and stepped into the sitting room. Molly was sitting on the sofa next to Mary and it sounded as if they were discussing wedding plans. Perhaps they were comparing notes.

She looked up as he entered and their eyes met. Something in her expression filled him with a sudden surge of optimism. For the first time, he felt he could see her, inside her. She _did_ care; to what extent he wasn't completely sure, but it was enough that he made a decision then and there that he was going to fight for her if he had to, not just stand idly by while she married another man. Her hands were in her lap so he was unable to see her engagement ring.

First though, he had to know where things stood, and whether a fight would be necessary. He attempted a nonchalant smile, even as John closed the door behind them. "Molly, I thought you would be bringing your fiancé."

Everyone looked surprised at his words, except John who of course knew she was engaged.

Molly flushed slightly and twisted her fingers together, and suddenly, Sherlock saw there was no engagement ring on her finger just before the confirming words escaped her mouth. "Tom and I broke up a couple nights ago. It wasn't working for me."

Sherlock had a sudden flashback to her saying the same words years earlier when he had questioned why she had removed her lipstick. He blinked, trying to clear the long ago memory and process this new information. _She broke up with him right after we spent the day together,_ he thought and exhilaration spread through him. Molly's eyes met his again and he could feel his heartbeat thudding in his chest. Perhaps there would be no need to fight for her after all, just to claim her for his own.

Mrs. Hudson insisted on Sherlock and John telling the story of what had happened the previous night and Sherlock explained, saying also that Molly had been with him on the visit to Shilcott's flat where he had seen Lord Moran entering a Tube compartment and not exiting it. Occasionally as he talked, his eyes drifted towards Molly, and each time her eyes were fixed on him intently.

Afterwards, talk returned to John and Mary and initial plans for their wedding. Sherlock felt impatient, wishing he could just speak with Molly privately.

At last, Mrs. Hudson stood. "This has been a lovely afternoon, but I think it's time for me to go home and have some dinner."

With that, Lestrade also stood. "I should go too, I'm on the late shift tonight at the Yard, so I should probably try to get a couple hours of sleep beforehand."

And then it seemed everyone was leaving at once. John looked at Molly and asked, "Can we give you a ride home, Molly? We brought Mary's car."

Molly opened her mouth to respond, but Sherlock quickly interjected. "Actually, I would like a quick word with Molly before she leaves."

John looked at Sherlock, then Molly. "Well, we can wait a bit, if you like."

Sherlock folded his arms. "I think I know how to hail a taxi for Molly, so that will not be necessary." Bloody hell, John was a thick as a brick sometimes. Couldn't he see Sherlock wanted some private time with Molly?

John opened his mouth to protest, but Mary took his arm. She apparently understood better than John did that Sherlock wanted to talk to Molly alone. "Come on, love. I'm sure Sherlock can take care of seeing that Molly gets home safely." She looked at Sherlock then and was that - a _wink_? He couldn't be sure.

With that, she tugged on John's arm and pulled him out of the flat, and they followed the already departed Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade.

Sherlock watched them descend the stairs and waited until he heard the outer door close before he closed his own front door and turned.

Molly was hovering nearby, biting her lip as she always did when she was nervous. "So, uh, what did you want to talk about, Sherlock?"

_As if you didn't know, _he thought, and stepped a little closer towards her. "I would like to know the reason why you broke things off so precipitately with your fiancé."

She swallowed nervously and her gaze flicked from his face to the floor in front of her. "You know why."

He took another step closer. "No, I don't know why."

She pressed her lips together. "Of course you do."

Sherlock decided he'd had enough of these cat-and-mouse games. It was time to know the truth, once and for all. He reached out and took Molly's hand. "Is there some other direction in which your true affections lie, Molly?"

She took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. "It's you, Sherlock. It's always been you."

He smiled slightly, feeling triumph rise within himself. He'd won, after all. His thumb stroked the back of Molly's hand and he bent his head so that his lips were hovering only inches from hers. "And what would you like me to do with this rather...unexpected information?"

He was not disappointed by her response. She pulled her hand away gently and reached to curl her fingers around his neck. "I want you to kiss me. Kiss me like you mean it." Her voice was hushed, full of longing.

His own hands moved of their own volition to clasp either side of her face. He was a little nervous, not having kissed a woman before, but he knew he wanted to do it, desperately. His eyes drifted shut and he let instinct take over as his lips sought hers.

Feeling Molly's lips against his wasn't what he expected, it was so much more. It opened to Sherlock a world he had not known existed, a world where caring _was _an advantage, and sentiment wasn't a chemical defect, but a chemical high that allowed him to feel for the first time the wonder of being in complete sync with another human being. Love and passion burgeoned within him as he continued to kiss her.

Even as he felt Molly's complete yielding response to him, he understood that this was what he wanted, to love and be loved, to never let her go again.

They finally pulled apart slightly, chests heaving, faces flushed. Molly's eyes shone with the same wonder that he himself felt. He could feel her fingers still delicately touching his curls as a smile played about her lips, "I think that kiss was the most meaningful one I've ever had. I love you, Sherlock, and finally I can admit it to you and myself that Tom would always have been second best."

Sherlock placed his hands on her shoulders. "When I saw that ring on your finger, I thought I had lost you forever, even though I had never had you - does that make sense?"

"You've always had me, Sherlock, even when you didn't know it." Her voice was earnest as was her expression and he smiled.

He then reached for her now ringless hand and led her to the sofa so they could sit together. He angled himself so he could see her properly, even as he continued to hold her hand. "Tell me when you decided to break it off with-" he thought for a moment and said slowly, questioningly, "Tom?"

Molly nodded her affirmation that he had said the right name. "All day, Sherlock, I could feel something between us, passing back and forth. It was like this, I don't know - electricity maybe?"

Sherlock's hand grasped hers more firmly. "That's what I was feeling too."

"Well, anyway, I was trying to pretend it wasn't happening, and to convince myself that it was just my relief at seeing you again, knowing you were back in my life as a friend." Her eyes dropped from his then and she looked at their joined hands for a moment before looking up again. "When you congratulated me and said those words about me not always falling for a sociopath, I knew I was still in love with you and I couldn't marry someone else."

"You said something as I was leaving, but I didn't hear what it was."

He saw a tinge of pink on Molly's face as she responded, "I said, 'Maybe it's just my type.' That's when I knew I had to go and see Tom immediately and return his ring." She paused for a moment, then continued. "Sherlock, I want you to know I'm not expecting any big, romantic gestures from you. I know this must be a strange situation for you and I don't want you to feel pressured into any declarations."

Sherlock stared at her for a moment, startled. He suddenly realised that Molly had expressed her love for him, said the words, and she was trying to tell him he didn't need to say them back. Of course, she had no idea he'd already acknowledged his love for her to himself.

He leaned closer to her. "Molly, my Molly." His free hand reached out to caress her cheek tenderly. "I knew I had feelings for you, strong ones, when we spent the day together, but I only had time to really acknowledge it last night to myself, that I was in love with you, when I thought it was too late."

Her eyes widened and the smile that spread across her face illuminated her features into one of such radiance he caught his breath. "You really love me? I mean, I was pretty sure there was something between us, but I never dared to hope you would open your heart completely to me."

"Guess I'm going to have to prove it." He closed the distance between them and his lips met hers, soft and gentle at first until he felt her response. Then his kiss became fierce and possessive, as he indicated to Molly that he was hers and she was his.

When they finally pulled apart, Molly said with a note of wonder in her voice, "You _do _love me, don't you?"

He laughed, and it was a carefree sound. "Indeed I do, and we have the rest of our lives together to explore that love. In fact, before you said you had broken off your engagement I had already decided I was going to fight for you, to take a chance at attaining my own happy ending."

"I'm glad you had decided I was worth fighting for. It means a lot."

"To the ends of the earth, my love."

Molly leaned her head against his shoulder, and he kissed her hair, still marvelling over this sudden turn of events that had given him a new lease on life. He had thought he would spend the rest of his life alone, but now he knew he had the chance to have it all, a wife and a family of his own that he hadn't even known he yearned for until now.

There were things to be sorted out first, telling everyone that he and Molly were together, finding the right time to make his own proposal of marriage to her, _not right away, but soon,_ he thought to himself, planning their future together, but for now, the future was looking very bright indeed.

_I wonder what John would think of a double wedding? _he mused with an inward smile, and then he kissed the woman he loved again.

* * *

**Author's note:** I know - I managed to write a little romance without going into a long, convoluted multi-chapter fic! Did anyone catch the little reference to another show in which Benedict Cumberbatch has featured?

One of the most freeing things for me as an author in writing these _Realizations of Love Dreams_ stories is that I can draw on the body of work from the entire series of the show, beyond the timeline which I am using for a particular story because my "real" Sherlock is using his past to twist it in a different way in his dream. Because of this, I was able to use some of the canon conversation from TFP. I hope you liked the integration of that dialogue. Hopefully this is something unique to my storytelling which nobody else has explored.

At the same time, I hope that this story can stand alone on its own merits for those readers who have no wish to read about my "real" post-TFP universe for the characters and the Christian themes that are part of that universe. For all I know, only my regular faithful readers are reading this one anyway.

Show me you care about my writing with the three F's (follow/favourite/feedback).

Thanks for reading!


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